Horsing Around

 

I know, you've forgotten more about riding than I'll ever know, and I remember telling two rodeo stars about the Thoroughbred Grey I was training, with help.

me and the youngest

They looked at me blankly, in a nonplussed wtf are you kind of way and I replied, "Hey, just having fun with a horse." They lightened at that, "What it's all about, man." 

Three screws in the hip and a cautionary tale later I'm more cautious and haven't ridden since; maybe that needs to change? But here's the thing, I'm not inclined to get on a half-broke horse anymore, much less a mad Arab. Is that wrong?

Ride on,

LSP

Pray Hard Please

 

The text came in early this morning, "They think he's developed pneumonia. White blood cell counts are up and organs don't look good. We could lose him today." 

This was my friend and MC at one of the missions, a man I'd worshiped with at the Altar, Sunday by Sunday, for the past thirteen years. An outstanding athlete in his day, he's now on a ventilator. 

So I dropped everything and drove to an ICU in Waco to administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction, and offer the prayers of the Church. “Go forth, Christian soul..." and if it's God's will, return to health. I'll be honest, everyone's praying for a miracle and I''m asking you to do so too.

He was and is a good man. Nothing remotely fake about him, he called his shots as he saw them and if he didn't suffer fools gladly was always good to me, sometimes in a tough way.

For example, a few years back I was laid up in bed with a broken hip, thanks to a mad Arab, and I called my friend on Saturday morning, "Hey, have you got a priest to cover the Mass tomorrow?" A short pause, "No, I haven't." I thought for a moment, mind like a steel trap, "Why not?" A shorter pause, "Because you're doing it."

Not wanting to seem like a pathetic soy of a wimp I rolled up to the Altar the next day on a walker and said Mass, MC at my side. One his daughters took a photo and produced a meme, when an old cowboy bullies his priest into saying Mass with a broken leg. Ha. But hey, he was right, got me moving.

I say again, please pray for a miracle and in the absence of a sign, for the angels to escort this good soul to paradise.

LSP

Just Strollin'.

Some things you take for granted, like walking the dog to the nearest Pick 'n Steal, then boom, disaster falls, you've got three screws in your upper femur and you can't walk. All of a sudden you start to appreciate simple things, like putting one foot in front of the other. That in mind, I took Blue Eschaton for a walk today, the first since a crazy Arab kicked me off her back.

The Meth Shack

We strolled through the bucolic avenues of this rural Texan haven via the Meth Shack, and it's doing well with seasonal decorations and a fearsome clown dressed in a camo onesie. Not be trifled with.

Note Water Offering

I waved at a couple of Shackers, who seemed a little bit worse for wear after a hard night on the meth, then ambled over to the Shamrock. The Shamrock's an Irish filling station, owned by Nepalese and staffed by Mexicans, right here in North Central Texas. Benefits of multiculturalism aside, they have good coffee and I got a "refill" while Blue Guard sat outside, it's a ritual. Then we headed for home under an increasingly glowering Lone Star sky.

Mission Accomplished

Back at the Compound it was all well done, mission accomplished! and it felt good to do something so simple as go out with the Blue again. Result. In other exciting news, the Cadet's on his last stretch of Basic, Blue Phase, and he's done well so far. 

How Lovely

Still, he has to pass a final APFT (fitness test) and a field exercise to graduate on schedule. I don't anticipate a fail in either but hey, accidents and all else besides... so fingers crossed. 

Your Finally Walking Pal,

LSP

Poor Baby!

I wasn't going to say Mass at Mission #2 two Sundays ago because a Mad Arab threw me off her back, resulting in three massive screws to the upper femur. So I called the MC and asked if he'd sorted out a supply priest. The conversation went like this.

"Hey, d'ye have a supply priest sorted out for Sunday?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was figuring you'd do it."

"How, I've got three enormous screws in my leg."

"Poor baby!"

This left me with one choice and one only. Get up. Get in the rig. Say the Mass. Good thing the recruit's on hand to drive, and by the way, the MC in question has a history of falling off horses.

Ride on,

LSP

The Rise And Fall Of LSP Pt. II - The Drugs

One minute you're riding high and the next, sunk into the depths of misery and another statistic in this nation's burgeoning opiate crisis.

There I was, strapped into a gurney on the way to Hillcrest, Waco, after a hard fall from a Mad Arab. "75 Fentanyl," said the EMS specialist as he administered the serum into a handy IV. "Might be a bumpy ride, stay with it." Which is what I did, all the way to Hillcrest ER.

Boom, outta the gurney and into a bed in Emergency. Smooth operation, they just lifted the sheet and put me on a new bed, no need to scoot over, "Well done!" The nurses liked that and laughed, "At least you're not some overweight thug."

Next thing you know it's endless corridors, elevators, more corridors and then a room on the 5th floor, where a nurse asks "how's your pain on a scale of 1-10?" A pause, "I'd give it a sturdy 4.5." Right answer, in goes some Morphine to top off the Fentanyl.

This went on till around 2.30 am and with it the news that I'd be operated on sometime that morning. Sure enough I was.  Lying there under the lights, the surgeon gave me a choice, "You can have a General, that's what most old people do and it works. Or you can have an Epidural which'll cut out feeling from the waist down. I know, you're thinking, 'that's gonna hurt!' No it won't, because we'll give you an IV sedative so you won't even feel the needle going in."

I opted for the second path and overheard the surgeon and a nurse discussing the IV, "Yeah, Morphine, Fentanyl and some Ketamine." The IV started to kick in, the needle did its work and that was that, oblivion.

Some time later I came to, feeling good, then remembered where I was and it was time for more corridors, elevators and back to the room. Pan to scenes of "how's your pain on a scale of 1-10?", Oxycontin and Morphine at various intervals and... by Sunday everything was getting a bit hazy.

Go figure. Then Monday came 'round and it was time to go after a couple of quick and painful (8/10) physio sessions.

I was fully expecting to be prescribed a week or two's worth of Oxy and a place in the opioid epidemic, but no. I got Aspirin. Good work, sensible medicos, and I tell you, they're a good crew at Hillcrest if you've come off a horse and need a bone pinned back together. And now?

Back at the Compound on bed rest while the bone heals, and scooting about on a walker. Like an ILLUMINATI MASTER.

So there you have it. Pride, my friends, comes before a fall.

Don't do drugs,

LSP